What Am I Thinking?
by Feagalad
Summary: Have you ever had a wonderful idea come to you - a short burst of inspiration that is both strong and fleeting? Some of us call them blot bunnies and others call them our muse; but whatever you decide to label them as you can't deny that they are inescapable. Here is a collection of one-shots that I am contemplating expanding into full-length fics, if enough people are interested.
1. In Which Fred Annoys His Dormmate

**Author's Note:** A brief glimpse into the shenanigans of Fred & George Weasley.

**Disclaimer:** No matter how much I might try to convince myself otherwise, I do not own the Weasleys.

* * *

Silas winced as he caught a whiff of the stewing lacewings. "Remind me why we decided to brew this in our dorm again?"

Fred answered without even looking up from his hasty writing of a Potions essay. "Because it was either here or in Moaning Myrtle's loo."

"So?" Silas felt that he would prefer the company of the morose Myrtle to having this stench contaminating the air in the dorms. Clearly, however, neither Fred nor George, and certainly not Lee, felt the same way. In fact, Fred slyly nudged the cauldron with his foot, causing the lid to jitter and allowing another belch of thick, rancid steam to escape. Silas gagged and pulled his jumper over his nose – how _did_ Fred stand to study in here?

* * *

**TBC...**


	2. In Which Ron Shows His Loyalty

**Author's Note:** A glimpse into Ron and Harry's friendship.

* * *

"Harry isn't replying to my letters again." Ron fretted, chewing on a raspberry sugar quill.

"Well, Ronniekins." George said from the couch where he was sprawled with a Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes owl order list. "You haven't been exactly informative in said letters. I 'accidentally' opened one when Pig brought it back and I must say that if I were Harry I'd be tempted to re-line Hedwig's cage with those notes." Ron looked annoyed at the idea, but was forced to concede George's point. The twin looked up from his checklist and grimaced. "You know Harry. The poor bloke's been stuck with _"Hi, we're fine,'s"_ and _"How are you doing?'s"_ all summer. No wonder he's giving us the silent treatment – remember what happened last year?" George broke off with a half-grin at the reminder of Harry's explosive temper and large lungs.

"Bugger!" Ron groused, expressing his feelings quite eloquently. "I have half a mind to send him the minutes from the last meeting."

'Ronald!" Hermione was scandalised. "You'll do no such thing! Dumbledore said…"

"Dumbledore can bloody well go jump in a lake!" Ron flared, tossing aside his candy with a jerk. "MY point is: Pig brought the letter back unopened. It had never been unsealed – it hadn't even been untied from his leg. Harry never even saw it. Now what does that remind you of?" He glared at George who, much to his relief caught on at once.

"Second year, Dobby incident." The redheaded twin frowned. "Maybe we should go bust him out of prison again."

"Harry was in _jail_?" Hermione shrieked shrilly, looking outraged. She could not imagine her sweet, smart-mouthed friend being thrown in jail. He never even left the house in summer anyways and she would have known if it had happened during the school year.

"Might as well have been in jail." George looked unusually gloomy as he answered her. He was caught up in old memories that had remained long buried and now were being called up to rear their ugly heads in all of their unpleasantness. "His no-good relations locked him up, bars on the window and everything, _and_ were starving him."

"_WHAT_?" Hermione yelled – then took a deep breath to calm herself before she did anything rash. "H-how do you know that?" She was putting herself in analysing mode now – wanting all of the facts before passing judgement. Brow furrowed and lips pursed in thought, she busily took down mental notes so that she could have a good case that would actually help Harry rather than hinder any help he could get. "Did Harry tell you?"

"Are you bloody kidding?" George demanded in shock. "This is Harry I-Make-Light-Of-My-Problems-And-Would-Claim-To-Be- Fine-On-My-Deathbed Potter!"

"So how do you know they were starving him? Maybe he was just grounded" Hermione didn't like the idea of bars over Harry's window either – but that was just overkill, not inhumane, and if Number 4, Privet Drive was truly the safest place for Harry to hide from Death Eaters than she was prepared to sacrifice his convenience for his life. He meant the world to her – but she understood the implications of rashly moving him if there was no real danger from within the house's walls. Being grounded was a nuisance, not a danger, and a boy's guardians were certainly entitled to using such a decree as a punishment. Starving said grounded boy, however, was another matter entirely.

"It's not natural to grab hold of a bloke and be able to feel his skeletal system." Ron growled darkly. "Nor is it natural to sick up after a simple breakfast like he did on our first morning back."

"I didn't know about that." George said, startled.

* * *

**TBC...**


	3. In Which The Weasleys Stick Together

**Author's Note:** You've got it folks - the ol' Harry-goes-on-the-run-from-the-misguided-Order idea. But this time Ron is with him all the way.

* * *

"Right." Fred said, dumping several dubious-looking items on Ron's bed. "First order of business is to get you two blokes disguised." He began, sorting through the paraphernalia and finally producing a jar of some strange darkish potion, which he shook in front of Ron's nose ominously.

"What in the name of Merlin's spectacles is that?" Ron demanded, backing away from his older brother.

"Hair dye." Fred explained, handing the jar off to Harry who inspected the contents doubtfully.

"You want us to dye our hair?"

Fred nodded with a rather shark-like grin. "Yep. And since I had to sacrifice my manliness by going into the La Belle Dame shop in Diagon Alley to get it for you, the least you could do is not complain." He glanced at Ron's doubtful face. "It's brilliant, really. See – Georgie and I have invented this cool little hex that will freeze your hair at a certain length (it _really_ saves time in the morning if you don't want to waste any on shaving). Anyways, we'll freeze your hair once you've grown it out a little and you'll both dye it brown. Make sure you don't forget the eyebrows and once that's done, you won't be quite so recognisable."

* * *

**TBC...**


	4. In Which A Plot Twist Is Twisted

**Author's Note: **There is such a rash of 're-do' fics in this fandom (not that I'm complaining, mind) So I got to wondering...what would happen if Harry and Luna were sent back to re-do their lives, but with a twist Supposing they were given new names, new identities, and new lives where the memories of their past experiences were mere echoes that occasionally teased at the subconsious. If I get a good response for this I may expand on the idea so read & review!

* * *

Danny walked into the little sandwich shop and sat down. He hadn't eaten since the day before, no one had, and he desperately hoped that his skills wouldn't be impaired by it – seeing as how he had been instructed to bring back some cash or Cate would be sent to take the very pregnant Ginger's place out on the force. Eli had leaped up in protest of that ultimatum and received a beating that messed up his ankle, so Ringus kicked Danny and the few boys not debilitatingly ill out to go earn their keep.

It was January and just entering that stage where it was warm enough for muddy slush and sleet, but a piercing cold wind cut through every layer of clothing one could wrap around oneself. That was why Danny was in the shop. He had been drawn in by the smell of warm bread and soup and the chance of nicking some wallets without the complication of frozen fingers.

"What can I get for you today, dearie?" A matronly woman that reminded Danny of someone bustled over, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked so kind and well-meaning (but, thankfully, not insufferable) that his long-buried conscience resurfaced suddenly and inconveniently.

"Uh, just a glass of water, please."

"Are you sure?" She looked him up and down critically. "Forgive my saying so, but I think you could do with a good meal or two."

_What_ did that remind him of – what? "No, really, Ma'am. I'll stick to water. I…I have no money." He hoped desperately that he wasn't blushing.

"Hmmm." She gave him another long look and walked off. Feeling strangely bereft, Danny occupied his mind by carefully surveying his surroundings half guiltily in an effort to find something he could safely steal. At the moment he seemed to be the only customer, save for an old man drinking coffee and reading a newspaper in the far corner. There was no point in robbing that one – aside from the fact that he could never get close enough without rousing suspicion (even the bathrooms were in the opposite direction), the man had his wallet laid out on the table to count out a tip and Danny could clearly see the lack of cash therein.

"Here you are, dear!" The waitress set down a tray with a turkey sandwich and a thermos of something hot.

Danny gaped, aware that he looked completely gormless but unable to process this foreign event. "But – but I can't pay for this!" He spluttered, muscles tensing on instinct to get ready for flight. He was so bewildered he barely even flinched when the woman patted his shoulder in a manner he guessed was meant to be comforting.

"No charge. You look like you need it. Eat up."

Treacherous tears stung Danny's eyes as the truth of this kind gesture washed over him like a tidal wave. How long had it been since he had felt such strange warmth bring a lump into his throat? Two years? Three? He didn't understand why the woman was doing this for him. He didn't deserve it. If only she knew him she would doubtlessly turn away in disgust rather than give him something to eat. Oh, why did her kindness hurt so much?

Swallowing hard, Danny reached for the sandwich and broke off a piece, transferring it to his mouth with trembling hands. "That's it, luv." His benefactress said, patting his shoulder one more time before she turned to go.

And suddenly everything was gone as Danny's senses zeroed in on the telltale clink of coins from her apron pocket. Of course! That must be where she stowed the tips. And it would be so easy to get it out too, given the fact that she seemed to have a fondness for close contact with him (for some reason he couldn't determine…who would want to even be _near_ a member of the Crooked X?)

Feeling quite wretched now, Danny quickly devoured the sandwich and peered inside the thermos, pleased and guilt-tripped to find some hot soup that he could save for his friends. He hated to do it, but he had no choice. So, nicking a pen from a nearby table, he sat down and painfully penned a simple note on the napkins, thanking whoever might be listening that he had at least learned his letters before leaving St. Gregory's. Danny had never quite managed to reach the emotionless cool of most street kids (hence why he was so unexpected affected by the free sandwich) although he could put up a front that could convince even himself. But now his defences were somewhat down and the words flowed hard and fast from his mind, belying the slow movement of his pen.

**_Ma'am – i'm soRy. YuvE been good to mE. Thankyu for the mEal its probably the best ivE had in a long timE. But ivE got a famly out there and if I dont bring bak some casH hE'll maik my sistErs go out to work. So i was the onE who stol from yu I'm sory, but wat chois do I hav? HEL. im not EvEn sur wi im teling yu this. Just no that im sorY. i promis Ill pay yu bak somE day._**

**_The ArTful dodgEr_**

He carefully folded the napkins and waited, trying not to lose his nerve or give away the game. When the waitress came back to clear his plate and hand over a package of three cookies, Danny's nimble fingers dipped into that jingling pocket and transferred the money to his jacket and the note to hers. "Thanks, Ma'am." He muttered, embarrassed, and fled the premises so he wouldn't have to see her face.

* * *

**TBC...**


	5. In Which Ron Has A Scheme

**Author's Note: **My brain is so full of AU's, it's not even funny. For this one it's a 'what if Ron and Harry met as kids?' fic.

* * *

"This isn't right!" Ron hissed angrily. "Kids shouldn't be starved or have to live in a boot cupboard or – "

"I know, Ron." Harry scowled. "I'm not stupid. I know it isn't quite right – but what can I do?"

Ron had the answer to that. "Run away with me." He said. "We'll live on our own and you'll never have to see those muggles again." He was rather hopeful; it would be nice to have a friend with him.

Harry fidgeted – on the one hand it would be lovely to get away from the Dursleys and live with his new…could he call Ron a friend? But on the other hand, he could see some practical problems with this mad plan. "But what about getting food? Where will we sleep? What if someone catches us?"

* * *

**TBC...**


	6. In Which Malfoy Is Less Of A Prick

**Author's Note: **As I said; _way_ too many AU situations in my brain. For this one - supposing Draco, Ron, and Harry all somehow either ran away or were abandoned and ended up in the same muggle orphanage together, only re-entering the Wizarding World whenever they receive their Hogwarts letters.

* * *

"Malfoy, Draco?" McGonagall called, looking hopefully around. Whispers broke out as Draco elbowed his way through the crowd of first years and sat down on the stool. The Slytherins were all leaning forward eagerly and he had to fight the urge to slump; after five years of freedom it was stifling to remember that after tonight his father would know that he was still alive. He expected a Howler by lunchtime tomorrow.

_"Well, Mr. Malfoy,"_ the Sorting Hat muttered in his ear. _"I see you are calling yourself 'Drake Radclyffe' now. Such an interesting history you have! But where to put you?"_

"If you put me in Slytherin I'll have your guts for garters." Draco thought fiercely and detected a hint of amusement from the Hat as the dratted lintball spotted the book he had pulled that threat from. "Look – I just want to go with my brothers into Gryffindor."

The Hat chuckled. _"And what makes you think Messrs. Potter and Weasley will end up in Gryffindor?"_

"Won't they?" Draco couldn't conceive of a Potter or a Weasley going anywhere but the Lion's Den. (Well, there _had_ been that Weasley several generations back that his father still ranted about – Septimus or something like that – but Ron was definitely as Gryffindor as they come and surely the Hat wouldn't dare to put The Boy Who Lived anywhere else!).

_"We shall see, Mr. Malfoy; I have yet to look into their heads. But since you've made your mind quite clear to me – __**GRYFFINDOR**__ it is."_

Draco breathed a sigh of relief as McGonagall reclaimed the hat. There was a moment of stunned silence before the Gryffindor table burst into cheers, drowning out the feverish whispers of the Slytherins. As Draco sat down, some bloke named Finnigan slapped him on the back and said welcome. Apparently being sorted into the 'Light House' was all the apology needed for bearing the name 'Malfoy'. Draco snorted in derision at this idea, but had no desire to alienate his new housemates. As soon as Finnigan let him go, two redheaded twins – presumably relations of Ron's – came over and sat down.

"Oi, Malfoy," One started off, looking a bit uncomfortable but not openly hostile. "We hate to…"

"…bother you, but…"

"…is our…"

"…brother, Ron, in that…"

"…crowd of firsties by…"

"…any…"

**"…chance?"**

Despite their ping-pong style of speech, they both looked quite worried. Draco nodded and said, "Yeah – he's just there. Tall, redheaded kid, second from the right." He pointed Ron out.

"Oh thank Merlin!" The twins breathed. "We were afraid…"

"…he might…"

"…not be able…"

"…to make it…"

**"…this year!"** They looked like they might say more, but were distracted by McGonagall calling a rather famous name. Instantly everyone in the Hall looked around, waiting for this kid to appear, and when he did they all focused intently on his sorting.

_**"GRYFFINDOR!"**_ The Hat screamed and Draco was on his feet, clapping and whistling.

"Way to go, Harry!" He whooped, not caring who stared. This was a fresh start for him and sod anyone who tried to mess it up!

"You know Harry Potter?" Finnigan demanded, something like awe in his voice.

* * *

**TBC...**


End file.
